


Goldilocks

by tourdefierce



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Fluff, Implied Underage, M/M, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Scenting, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourdefierce/pseuds/tourdefierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It may be the wrong fairytale to fit their odd world, but Derek was most definitely Goldilocks, and somehow, Stiles' bed was juuuuuust right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goldilocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grangerbutstranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grangerbutstranger/gifts).



> Originally written for TW-Holidays on LJ. 
> 
> "I went way out of my comfort zone here to deliver a kink!free story and I hope you enjoy it, hermionerd. I stuck with the following prompts from the original sign-up: _Friendships, more plot than porn, UST, introspection, bisexual characters in general, and slow build._ (Although, I'd be lying if I said this had much of a plot other than mysterious bed-sharing!) My two betas and cheerleaders, S and A deserve all the thanks for this fic because their patience with me is extrodinary. Any remaining mistakes are my own."
> 
>  **Warnings:** Explicit language, sexual content, breaking and entering, implied underage sex and age disparity (set post-S2, where Stiles is under 18 and Derek is somewhat older), fluff, scenting, implied sexual promiscuity of Isaac (who may or may not be underage), glorious hand-waving of S3 speculations of plot and mild depictions of violence. At one point there is a stake-out that could be considered stalking?

The first time Isaac crawled into Stiles' bed it was two o'clock in the morning, two days before the full moon and Stiles stabbed him with the nearest sharp object—a knitting needle. There was a lot of whispered shouting, although Stiles' dad was working the third shift so the whispering must have just been habit, but eventually a light got turned on and Stiles stopped stabbing Isaac with shiny, purple knitting needles and watched the wounds heal up right before his eyes. 

"What are you _doing here_?" Stiles hissed, gesturing wildly with the needle and watching as Isaac blinked, looking confused himself but also wary of the way Stiles was still brandishing his weapon of choice. 

When Isaac still didn't answer, Stiles made a noise and asked again, because it bore repeating. 

"Isaac, seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?" 

Not for the first time, Stiles thought that Beacon Hills werewolves were really lucky they were all so pretty or nobody would put up with their shit. Because even after being awoken in the night, Stiles was still feeling guilty about stabbing Isaac several times. It was the way his eyes seemed to well-up with innocence and some sort of Bambi-like quality that made some sort of internal instinct of his snap. He didn't feel this with Boyd or Erica but they both had different ways to capitalize on their good looks. For Scott, it was the sort of confused and well-meaning look to his face that got him out of awkward encounters with the entirety of the Argent family and more than one conversation with his mother. For Isaac, it was his ability to look like the boy who was three seconds away from being locked into a freezer by his father. 

His wayward curls looked soft in the light of Stiles' room and his blue eyes looked impossibly large. Isaac's face always made Stiles forget that Isaac was actually a predator, sort of an asshole and was kind of like Jackson in the way that he definitely used his weird, werewolf sexual mojo to get girls... and boys. Stiles was 90% certain that Isaac was getting some from Chris Argent, Danny, and the twins that run the mechanic shop on the edge of town.

Stiles shook his head and narrowed his eyes, pointing the knitting needles at Isaac's face. 

"Are you on werewolf drugs? Because I told you not to take anything that Peter gives you." 

Isaac frowned, looked down at the bed and then back to Stiles, "I don't know why I'm here." 

"Do you feel the overwhelming urge to snack on my human flesh?" 

Isaac shook his head. 

"Are you doing recon?" 

That earned him a dramatic huff. 

"Are you trying to hit on me? Because let me tell you, man, that's super flattering because you're you know," Stiles said gesturing to the whole of Isaac's body and thinking of all the super-hot things Isaac has probably learned from his new found sexual freedom. "But um, I'm not desperate enough? Wait. That's not a question. I'm not interested and whoa, what are you doing?" 

Isaac shoved his face into Stiles' neck and took a huge gulp of breath. He panted a few times as Stiles sat very, very still. Allison had pulled him aside once and explained about prey and being still and no sudden movements but Stiles was mostly just shocked into not moving. 

Isaac was visibly and audibly _smelling_ him. 

Stiles understood that werewolves came with one killer nose but most of the time it was just Scott wrinkling up his nose and commenting on Stiles' jerk-off frequency. 

This sort of smelling was new. 

"Are you done?" Stiles said, trying to keep the snark in his voice. 

Isaac pulled back and was pulling a damn good imitation of Scott's vulnerable-and-confused-about-being-vulnerable face. Which, dammit, that meant that Stiles wasn't going to be raging about the breaking and entering or the inappropriate bed creeping that totally bordered on assault because he was an absolute sucker for that face. 

"You smell like Derek," Isaac said. "I came here because you smell like—"

"I'm going to stop you there—" but Stiles didn't get to lodge a complaint because a sudden look of clarity came over Isaac's face. 

Then he looked a bit smug. 

God. Werewolves. They were infuriating. 

"Are you gonna share with the rest of the class? Or maybe just me since you broke into my house and climbed into bed with me in the middle of the night? Did you forget that I'm not one of your many conquests this month, you slut?" 

Stiles poked Isaac with the knitting needle but he just shrugged and said, "We're trying something new." 

"Who's we?" 

"Pack," Isaac said and oh, now he's all tight-lipped. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes and felt his face spasm. "Isaac." 

He looked uncertain for all of two seconds before he reverted back to aloof and cool, despite still managing to look like a puppy that needed to be rapped on the nose with a rolled up newspaper. They were all badly trained but Isaac seemed to oscillate between apathetic and occasionally sorry about the inconvenience. 

"Nesting," Isaac elaborated, breaking eye contact to stare longingly at Stiles' pillow. "We've been trying to work in sleeping in the same bed. Derek says it strengthens our ability to heal, make us stronger and that we'll be able to sense each other's feelings more." 

"Like if you're being held hostage and electrocuted?" 

Isaac shrugged again. "I guess." 

"That suspiciously sounds like Derek is tricking you into cuddling with him," Stiles said. "Does this nesting involve -"

Stiles made a few questionable motions with his hands that he hoped conveyed his meaning. 

"Dude, gross," and yeah, when Isaac scrunched up his nose and rolled his eyes like that, Stiles could not take him seriously. He looked like a little boy explaining why he couldn't hold a girl's hand to cross the street because she had cooties and duh, _didn't Stiles know that_? 

Stiles put down the needle and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. The crusties at the corners of his eyes really hurt as he tried to knuckle them out. It was hard enough trying to figure the werewolf weirdness in the light of day. Doing it in the dark, after waking from a dead sleep was near impossible. 

"Let me get this straight," he started, watching as Isaac chewed on his lip and continued to glance between Stiles' face and the fluffiest of Stiles' pillows with something suspiciously like longing or like Isaac was thinking about just lying down and pretending Stiles wasn't here with him. "Derek's been seducing you into cuddling with him and the rest of the pack, which screams of the potential for statutory rape or voyeurism in the very least—and don't even get me started on how this is all logistically possible—and somehow that explains why you are here, in my bed, looking like you're about to steal all my pillows?"

Isaac nodded. 

Then he yawned. 

Stiles tried to remind himself how peacefully he was sleeping before Isaac interrupted. He had to hold onto the anger in the face of that Isaac yawning and fuck, rubbing at his nose like he could get the tired to come off of him if he scrubbed hard enough. Like when Stiles was five and he hysterically scrubbed at his ankle because he couldn't get a dirt spot off with soap only to find out that it was a mole. 

"Let's ignore the fact that you people are a bunch of creeps who cuddle together for a moment, but only for a moment because I'll be coming back to that—and get to the thought of anyone cuddling with Jackson without getting tetanus—how does that get you here?" 

Isaac looked at him like Stiles was the dumb one. 

"You smell like Derek." 

"I smell like Derek?" 

Isaac rolled his eyes, long legs and arms sort of just flopping about like Stiles was the one holding up the line. "Yeah, you smell like him." 

Stiles was trying to process it all. First of all, he hadn't seen Derek in like three weeks and he hadn't even touched him then. It was a quick update on the fact that Gerard Argent's body was missing, the Alphas were most definitely here to cause trouble and everybody was still alive, even Peter (super unfortunately on that last one). There hadn't been any touching between them, not even a friendly 'hello there let me slam you up against this wall so that we can communicate because I'm very strange and seem to need to rub my pectorals on everything, including your chest'. Secondly, when did smelling like Derek become like a beacon for cuddling? Was Jackson going to roll up in his Porche and demand some space too? Admittedly, Stiles didn't know anyone in the world who needed a cuddle more than Jackson, but Stiles was not going to be the one to be giving it to him. 

"So," Isaac said, breaking into Stiles' thoughts. "Can I stay?" 

Isaac looked down as if he had a choice between making a break for it through the window or crawling underneath Stiles' bed and refusing to come out unless there were cookies involved. 

Stiles sighed. 

"If you hog the covers, I don't care what Derek says, you are not invited back for sneaky, nonconsensual night-cuddles, do you hear me? And keep your dick to yourself. Just because we're both on the bisexual train—although, I guess I shouldn't assume, I feel like your criteria for a bedmate is probably just breathing. But whatever, it doesn't mean I automatically want to do you." 

Isaac wasn't listening. He was already cuddled up underneath the comforter, with it pulled all the way up to his nose as he wiggled out of his jeans and burrowed into Stiles' carefully constructed mound of pillows. Stiles watched for a few moments, taking in the madness, before he clicked off the light and laid back down. 

He fell asleep with Isaac's wheezing breath in his face and the knitting needle pressing uncomfortably into his back, wondering what in the actual fuck was going on.

<3<3<3

Five days later, Stiles came home from lacrosse practice to find three sleeping werewolves in his bed. Isaac was curled up at the foot of the bed, wrapped up in a blanket like he was burrito—although his feet were sticking out and, man, was he seriously wearing toe-socks because that was mega strange. Boyd was passed out flat on his back and Erica was lying splayed out, snoring loudly and dribbling all over Stiles' sheets.

Despite how freaky wrong it all seemed, Stiles just didn't have the heart to wake them. Although, to be fair, they probably all knew he was there. Scott endlessly complained about how he was such a light sleeper now because sounds and smells and freaky senses were still functioning in hyper-drive. Either way, Stiles didn't kick them out. 

He thought about it, but it wasn't like he was using his bed anyway and Boyd kept snuffling and humming in his sleep like a massive teddy bear. It was literally the cutest thing Stiles had seen in a while and he spent a lot of time cuddling cats at the animal hospital waiting for Scott to get off work, okay? Boyd was always too busy being reasonable and bored looking (taking lessons from Derek, Stiles suspected) and this, well, this was certainly a change of pace. 

Stiles settled in, flipping open his laptop and getting started on his homework. Three hours later, he took a break to make some dinner and when he came back up, thinking about offering them some, they were gone.

"You left the window open, you assholes!" Stiles yelled, hanging out the window a little. "Ungrateful cuddle punks!"

<3<3<3

It didn't happen again for another two weeks but as always, what Stiles came to expect from cuddlehungry werewolves was not what he was going to get.

He was half-assedly watching a documentary on killer bees and raiding dungeons on WoW when his doorbell rang. 

It was 2am and Scott was asleep in his room. Stiles had made sure of it himself after the thing with the Chupacabra earlier in the day—hell, Stiles hadn't even let Scott see Allison because getting munched on by something that weird made Scott loopy. 

His dad was working and sure as hell didn't ring his own doorbell to come home. 

Derek _never_ even used the front door, let alone niceties like announcing his arrival or waiting for permission. 

When Stiles peaked through the curtains, he was confronted with a strange sight. So strange that he even put down his baseball bat (Mrs. McCall could never say that he didn't listen to her wise words) and opened the door. 

"Um, hi?" 

Erica was looking twitchy and mean, arms crossed and within moments of an eyeroll but behind her stood Boyd and Isaac—which, okay whatever. But behind them, lurking over Boyd's hulking shoulder was Jackson's murderous face. 

Jackson's face was always _murderous_ since he killed a fuckload of people as Kanima but this time it was, like, actually furious looking—like 'fuck this noise' sort of style. 

Silence reigned. 

Stiles shifted back and forth on his feet, considering if he should run for his life, pick up his baseball bat and start swinging or if his curiosity was actually enough for him to stay.

Luckily, Boyd cleared his throat and said, "We have something to ask you." 

Erica sneered but Boyd poked her in the back until she stopped making any expression at all. Isaac smiled and Stiles was officially beyond freaked. 

"We would like to know if we can stay," Boyd offered, when no one else spoke up.

"Stay?"

"In your bed," Isaac through in helpfully. "Like the other day." 

Stiles bent down and grabbed the bat. "You didn't bother asking before." 

"And that was rude of us," Boyd said. "We're asking this time, right Erica?" 

She huffed, rolling her eyes and blowing up at her bangs. "Only because you're awful and making us. This is fucking torture. Let's just go." 

"No!" Jackson said, clutching at Boyd's hand and Stiles gaped. "Just, come on, let us in." 

"Hold on, freaky foursome. Where the hell is Derek?" 

They all looked at each other, making various eyebrow and mouth twitching movements before Isaac finally said, "He and Peter went to someone Doc Deaton knows." 

"Why does anyone want to travel with that psycho? I mean, seriously, do you guys hang out with him because I have to tell you, I don't let people who hang out with complete psychopaths cuddle in my bed. Regardless of how attractive you are all. Or how I'm still holding out hope that you'll all let me in on all that werewolf junk in your head because, you know, Derek isn't a sharer." 

Stiles took a breath. They were all staring. 

"Peter's gross," Isaac said, then shrugged. "Can we come in now?"

"Wait, so Derek is out of town and what, you're here because my bed smells like Derek—which, I see that no one is offering up any explanations of that for me, don't think I'm not picking up on that suspiciously absent information—but why are you here? Where do you all usually consummate this cuddle bond?" 

"Depot," Isaac said. 

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Then why are you here?" 

"For fuck's sake, Stilinski," Jackson finally broke, literally unable to keep his mouth shut for longer than five minutes. What an ass. He jostled between Boyd and Isaac's shoulders as if they were keeping him from breaking into Stiles' house. If that's what they were counting on, Stiles needed to speak with them about underestimating how big of a brat Jackson was. If he fucking wanted in Stiles' house, he was probably five seconds from willing himself back into Kanima form and slithering over their prone bodies, munching on Stiles on the way up and then napping in Stiles' bed for the rest of time. 

Ew. 

"That scent is old," Boyd said, calmly and rational as predicted, bring Stiles back from his Jackson-induced rage-hell. "Can we please just—"

"I don't want to wait anymore. I just want to get some sleep," Erica interrupted then glared at Stiles. "We asked nicely, Stiles. Don't make me knock you unconscious with your own hand just so we can all get healed and well rested." 

He let himself take in their appearances again. They were all freshly showered, which, thank god for small favors because he was pretty sure no one had gotten out of the Chupacabra ordeal without a gallon of guts on them. It was clear that Erica and Jackson were losing their patience and probably a little pissed Boyd made them ask anyway, because they were always weird about Stiles being let into any werewolf club secrets. However, it was hard to resist Isaac, who was blinking a lot and looking like he was willing to beg if he could just get some shut eye. 

Stupid Isaac and his stupid hair and dammit. 

"Fine," Stiles said. "But—"

"Yeah, yeah," Erica interrupted because obviously, she waits for no man and she shoved past him, sprinting up the stairs with Jackson hot on her heels. Isaac followed, less grumpy but no less eager. At least Boyd gave Stiles a nod and said a quick, "Thanks" before disappearing after them. 

Stiles didn't know how they were all going to fit in his bed but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. Well, he was curious enough to peek in after another three hours of gaming. He had to pee and grab some pillows from the closet anyway, and he just had to see how they made it work. 

In the barely-there sliver of moonlight shining in his window, the four werewolves were pretty much spooning. Erica was on one end being the big spoon to Boyd's little and then Jackson came next, even though his spooning with Isaac was more like a headlock. Jackson's knee was pretty violently mashed up against Isaac's kidney. Wow.

It was, despite the fact that Stiles knew their personalities, ridiculously cute. 

He fell asleep trying not to think of all the ways his bed would stink strongly enough of Derek to have his betas come a-calling—each reason more insane than the next.

<3<3<3

On Wednesday, a ghoul and a witch completely trashed the Wal-Mart on Jefferson Street, Scott got caught making out with Allison in a walk-in freezer and Derek returned to argue with Stiles, in public, which totally ruined any hope Stiles had of keeping his father from the knowledge that there was even a relationship to scream about.

It was entirely too dramatic, even for Lydia, who spent the majority of the interaction trying to keep Jackson from cheering at the two of them like some sort of fucked up Fight Club and generally just cringing at the sheer unclassy way Derek and Stiles were airing out their dirty laundry. 

"You're a fucking dick!" Stiles screamed, hands flexing into fists as he leaned forward into Derek's snarling face. "Scott almost lost his leg! _His leg, Derek._ I don't care how strong and wonderful you all are—I'm pretty damn sure there will be no regeneration of legs. Am I right or am I fucking right?" 

"You're being a child!"

Stiles roared his own frustrated growl. Derek lifted his stupid eyebrows and looked so smug and holier than thou that Stiles was going to strangle him. Right there on Jefferson, ghoul spittle on his face and Scott's blood all of his hands. In front of his father. 

And he was going to feel so satisfied too. 

"What the hell is _wrong with you_! You are seriously—"

Derek laughed in Stiles' face. "I'm what, Stiles? Come and enlighten me!"

"You son of a bitch," Stiles said. Then he bit Derek on the jaw. 

Just leaned forward, opened his mouth and bit down on Derek's scruffy, sweat covered, jaw of perfection. Because he had lost his motherfucking mind due to prolonged exposure to Alpha Derek stupidity and general werewolf bullshit. 

In front of his dad. 

To say the least, it was a trying week for all of them. 

After forty-five minutes of mulishly enduring a conversation that he had been dreading since it became clear that Derek Hale, falsely accused murder suspect, was a very frustrating (albeit hot) part of his life, Stiles' dad left for the night shift. 

Stiles pretended for all of five minutes that his night was going to consist of Casablanca, a tub of ice cream and an embarrassing jerk off session courtesy of having put his mouth on Derek's skin earlier in the week—then he got off his ass and raided the linen closet. 

He got extra pillows and tossed them in his room, then set up camp down stairs with his own pillow and blankets. About fifteen minutes in, he paused to give some attention to his dick and didn't even feel embarrassed about the prickle of tears in his eyes when he came because with the week he had? Having a good cry while hate-jerkin' his cock was perfectly dignified compared to devolving into some sort of animal and actually biting someone out of sheer frustration. 

"Never again," Stiles said, wiping his dick off with some tissues and shoving them between the couch cushions, swearing he'd remember to throw them away later. 

"Never again." 

The look on Ingrid's face when he unpaused her clearly said that she wasn't sure if he meant the biting or the jerkin' off. 

He didn't blame her. 

The movie hadn't even gotten to ideas of martyrdom before Stiles heard Jackson and Isaac fighting in his room. There was a solid bump, which was probably someone's head colliding with Boyd's fist of _I will not put up with this shit_. Stiles scowled and stayed right where he was. He wanted to be alone. He respected their need to nest or whatever, but he had no desire to be involved in any way, shape or form tonight. He did his part by providing the locale. 

At midnight, Erica went to the bathroom and called out a soft, "goodnight" that Stiles pretended not to hear on account of being asleep, even though she could probably hear that he wasn't. He didn't really care. He was so not in the mood to go up there and face them with their trippy, relaxed faces or their judgment that sort of looked like pity when they were all blissed out and cuddling. 

So he and Derek had some unresolved issues, some of which were exasperated by Stiles' attraction and surprise at actually caring about whether or not Derek came back from a family vacation with Evil Uncle Peter or from trying to take on a ghoul and a witch alone or that because Derek didn't seem to give a shit about his own life. Stiles found that he and his friends were always in danger of losing Derek to some self-sacrificing bullshit. 

And he cared about that. 

At least, that's what he thought the biting was all about. 

Five minutes after the last yelp of complaint (apparently Jackson had chronic cold toes to go with his chronic bitch face), Derek sat down next to Stiles on the couch. He had heard Derek knock twice before opening the front door but he refused to look away from the tv. 

"How's Deputy Davis?" 

Derek shrugged, his shoulder rubbing against Stiles'. "Eating a burrito and reading People magazine." 

After a few minutes, Stiles gave into the temptation to explain. 

"My dad is giving me a police escort for a while," he said. "He doesn't understand what happened but he's not stupid. He's pissed and worried and I'm pissed that he's worried and it's all just pretty much shit. Everything is shit between us right now and I hate it. I hate it and I hate it when you get hurt because I care. That's it. I'm not going to apologize, because Scott almost lost his entire leg and just—I don't know what to say to Dad that isn't just another lie. He's _my dad_. He's important. He's not going anywhere and neither are you or the pack or apparently Peter and just—it sucks pretty hard, dude." 

Stiles didn't look away from the screen.

Ingrid cried for a bit and the music picked up. 

"You should tell him," Derek said, credits rolling. 

"I know," Stiles said. "I want to stop lying to my dad. But he’s all I got and, man, I do not want him involved. He can't get hurt, Derek. Like, that's a pretty hard line for me, ya know? We can't even keep ourselves from getting our shit rocked on like a nightly basis. But I don't know how to stop lying and keep him safe all at the same time." 

Beside him, Derek grunted but didn't say anything more. Stiles sat thinking about the events of the week and the look on his father's face today. He thought about his friends in his bedroom, sleeping in Derek's unexplained scent and, of course, the jizz tissues between the cushions. 

Then he watched Derek take the remote, find some sitcom that was running late into the night and let himself fall asleep there, pressed up against Derek. He was warm and safe, despite everything and that was something to celebrate. Or at least sleep on. 

When he woke up, Derek was gone and he must have taken his puppies too because Stiles' bed was empty. The only evidence they were there was a neon, plaid sock beside his bed and too many pillows stacked by the headboard.

<3<3<3

Suspiciously, the gang of misfit toys showed up for an entire week of school.

Over lunch, the fifth day in the row that included not only violent bickering but one accidental nutsack mangling, Stiles had had enough.

He pointed a fork and said, "Not that I want you all to be high school drop outs or teen moms or anything, but why are you all here?" 

Erica pouted at him. "Don't be mean, Stiles. Isaac would never let anyone make him a baby momma." 

Jackson sneered prettily and Isaac just shrugged, not even attempting to defend his honor. Typical. As was the way Boyd completely ignored their conversation and menacingly devoured his mac and cheese. Stiles would actually enjoy eating lunch with Boyd if it wasn't for all the tools that came with him. Boyd let him ramble without interruption most of the time and had the whole blank face, Derek-in-training thing going on, so there were minimal bitch faces about Stiles or Stiles and Scott's ridiculousness when it was just Boyd. He kept his thoughts to himself, which mostly made Stiles want to strangle him, however it came in handy during lunch ramblings. 

"Huh," Scott said through an entire bag of Cheetos. "Yeah, you guys have been here all week." 

"Maybe I like to learn," Erica said. 

Stiles snorted. "Maybe you like distracting me," he said and then he leaned back. Isaac was looking particularly tired today and Jackson was so irritable he hadn't even pushed Stiles into a locker the entire week. 

"Wait a minute." 

Boyd took that time to sit up and pay attention—to flee—without a word. He just nodded to the others, got up with his hulking shoulders, and left the cafeteria. 

"Yeah, um, got to go," Isaac said and then the rest of the table cleared out.

The thing of it was: Stiles couldn't ever let anything go. Mysteries were meant to be solved! They were tiny little scraps of information begging to be found, piled together and deduced. It was entirely possible that this was because Stiles read too much Sherlock Holmes stories as a child or some twisted form of hero worship (but let it be said that Stiles' dad totally deserved to be worshipped). Whatever was the case, Stiles had not let anything lie in his entire life. Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy had been the first to go in the Stilinski family. The Easter Bunny followed shortly after. They weren't ousted because Stiles wasn't a dreamer or because he grew up too fast. No, those stories were _debunked_ by Stiles and his master skills of deduction or annoying his parents so much they finally caved to his elaborate crayon storyboard drawings of evidence. 

It wasn't just the victory of truth but the thrill of the investigation. 

Which was why Stiles was thinking, trying to put together all the strange pieces of their weirdo werewolf interaction and trying to come up with some sort of plausible explanation, while Scott was noisily sucking on the last remnants of his juice box. The betas were all naturally secretive now. It must have been a werewolf gene (that Scott clearly refused to inherit because he was not a secret keeper—Stiles' knowledge about Allison and sexy times is a testament to that) but the rest of the betas held on to information like Stiles would have to pry it from their implausibly dead hands. Even asking them what they all had for dinner frequently turned into a minute of silent communication before someone fessed up some information. 

It was ridiculous and Stiles blamed the paranoia on Derek. Hey, it wasn't always paranoia because pretty much everyone was out to get them but Derek could try harder. 

"Sneaky werewolves," Stiles said, squinting at the space they had vacated. He was definitely missing something that made all the strange pieces of their behavior click together. 

"Dude, I do not get them," Scott added. "I mean, what does Derek even do all day? This is Beacon Hills—"

"You freaking genius," Stiles hollered. "You are totally right. What does he do all day? I mean, he obviously doesn't have a job and if we've been staring at their ugly mugs all week long, then whatever he's doing is something they're not allowed to be involved in." 

Scott frowned, looking like a wounded puppy but also concerned that whatever Stiles was thinking about might interfere with his determination to make time to get to second base with Allison. Even though they're still "not really dating" and are complete and totally liars. Whatever, okay? Stiles wasn't going to touch that business unless Scott explicitly asked for his advice. 

"Do you think Derek's in trouble?" 

"Maybe," Stiles said. "Didn't they all look tired though? Like they weren't getting enough sleep?" 

"Um, I dunno, man. They looked fine to me." 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Isaac's precious face is fooling you, Scott. But those adorable baby blues will not distract me from the mystery at hand." 

When Stiles looked to Scott for a bit more Scooby and Shaggy sort of support, all he got was a shrug and a side-eyeing maneuver of his pudding cup. 

"Are you going to eat that?" Scott said and Stiles relented because who could eat pudding at a time like this?

<3<3<3

Two days later and Stiles was still stuck.

"I think they might be in some sort of sex cult," Stiles said, virtually ducking underneath a bridge as a helicopter flew overhead. He really needed more ammo. "And Derek is busy during the day taking care of some sort of administrative sex cult business and the betas are sad. I'm not sure how it all links up to the bed sharing thing they've got going on in my bed and frankly, the thought of that much fluid in my bed is kind of grossing me out. Can you smell it? Does it smell like a sex cult?" 

Scott blinked. 

Then he went and got himself killed. 

"Dude! Chopper!" 

"Stiles, you can't talk about sex cults and expect me to care about COD," Scot exclaimed, throwing down his controller. "Also, why is sex cult the first conclusion?" 

"I dunno! It's frustrating! But I think all the leather and the weird sexual tension everyone has is starting to rot my brain. It could just be blue balls," Stiles said, defensive. "But really, come on! You have to admit it's all a little strange. First with all of them sleeping in my bed and Derek being all cagey lately—which I will cop to some of it because yeah, the biting—but he's also been suspiciously absent around here. I get nervous when he's not lurking and looming." 

Scott squinted and shook his head, as if he could dislodge Stiles' ramblings. 

"Maybe Derek is busy with Alpha pack stuff." 

Stiles shook his head. "I've been doing research for him on that, so it really can't be that. I'm just having trouble linking the weird cuddling going on in my bed and Derek."

"Do you want me to smell your sheets?" 

'Yes! Scott! That is brilliant. Please, if you could, use your freaky-deaky nose on my bed. That would be super cool." 

Scott sighed, squinted at him as if he was trying to decide if Stiles was kidding, and then lumbered himself out of the beanbag. He leaned over the bed and sniffed. 

"Um," he said, looking as uncomfortable as Scott could. Stiles had never met anyone who fit the descriptions of _ants in the pants_ as much as Scott when he's uncomfortable or lying to his mother. "Are you sure Derek hasn't been around?" 

"Not up here. Not lately." 

"I mean, like _today_?" 

Stiles shook his head. "Impossible. We've been at school. You came home with me!"

"It's just that it smells pretty strongly," Scott continued. He stepped away from it and rubbed his nose. "It smells really fresh." 

"What smells fresh?" 

Scott's face twisted up into a clearly uncomfortable and upset tangle of normally attractive features. 

"It smells... like Derek," he finally said. "But dude, it also smells like pack." 

"That has a smell? Is it also the smell of group sex?" 

"No! It's just, like, packs have a scent? It's hard to explain. More like, claimed or homey." 

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. 

"You know what? I'm tired of not being able to make dog jokes because you freaking werewolves are—" Stiles stopped because Scott was taking off his shoes and getting into his bed. "Scott, what are you doing?" 

"Man, I don't even know. I really just want to lie down for a bit? Is that okay? Or is that weird?" 

"Are you serious right now?" 

Scott shrugged—or at least, Stiles thought he shrugged until he realized that Scott was just snuggling into the pillows and clutching the covers until they wriggled up his torso. Unbelievable. 

"Has your bed always been this comfy? I don't remember it being this awesome," Scott mumbled. "I feel like all my dreams have come true." 

Stiles sighed. "Whatever. Fine. Take a nap," he said, gesturing. "By all means, have at it. It's not like I can deny you when I whored my bed out to everyone else. Just be warned, you're sleeping on a mattress that has touched Jackson, okay?" 

Scott just hummed, snuggling deeper and making himself comfortable. Stiles looked on, not even thinking about anything because yeah, this was weird but it clearly had to be some sort of weird pack thing. His bed smelled like pack—like Derek? 

"What does it smell like now?" 

"S'nice," Scott said, drowsy. "Smells like Mom's oatmeal cookies and Allison's shampoo—smells like home and pack and safety." 

"I thought it smelled like Derek?" 

"It does." 

Stiles frowned. "How does that make any sense? It can't smell like oatmeal cookies and Allison's soul or _whatever_ always makes you get that goofy look on your face and still smell like Derek. That's impossible. Those things are completely and totally opposite. They are on the other end of the smell spectrum!" 

Scott didn't reply. He did, however, let out a little snore. 

"Fine," Stiles said, picking up his controller. "But I'm going to remember this moment of your epic failure, Scott. So much fail, dude."

<3<3<3

Because Stiles used to have luck before he met a bunch of creepy-ass werewolves, his dad had a meeting four towns over and had to gone for an entire day. He told Stiles about it over dinner two days before and then bitched about Deputy Kyle getting to eat curly fries in the police car, right in front of him.

An idea was born. 

It was pathetic how easy it was to fool the Beacon Hills principal’s office into believing that Stiles was his father. They cooed sympathetically over the line, wishing him well even though they've only ever given Stiles blank looks when he's around the office, and just like that, Stiles was called in sick. He pulled on a sweat-shirt of Scott's and watched from the Cripling family's shed. They were on vacation and they never locked their shed, which had a great line of sight for the back door. 

At twelve thirty, Derek melted out of the woods. 

"Son of a bitch," Stiles whispered, scrambling to pull out his binoculars. 

Derek easily jumped the back fence, only looking around once before he slid underneath the back awning. He looked ridiculously attractive, more lively since Peter had yet to show his evil side as of late, and he didn't look at all sallow or pale in the daylight. He was still wearing his stupid leather jacket that ran too long in the arms but Stiles didn't mind so much when he was wearing black jeans that tight. 

Stiles wondered how he squeezed his junk into them. 

"Stop thinking about Derek's dick," Stiles said to himself, adjusting the binculars and leaning forward. He watched as Derek picked the lock with what he suspected was an elongated claw and slipped comfortably into Stiles' house.

Like he did it all the damn time. 

Stiles sat and waited. He ate a sandwich and stared bleary eyed at his own house, acknowledging how strange it was that he was staking out his own home in his neighbor's shed. At three-thirty, Derek reappeared.

Stiles didn't think it was possible for Derek to look more attractive but damn. His usually perfectly sculpted hair was a mess and Stiles would bet his balls that the red, creased print on Derek's cheek came from a pillow. Derek still looked sleepy but pleased with himself and Stiles didn't know what he was angrier about, the fact that Derek looked that good breaking and entering his house for a nap or the fact that Derek’s weird, fucking freakyass napping was the source of all the weirdness in Stiles' life. 

At least, Stiles was assuming Derek was just sleeping in there. 

It was hard to ignore the urge to make a joke about Derek marking his territory but he really needed to not be hysterically laughing. That would probably tip Derek off. Admittedly, the thought of Derek, Mr. Piss and Vinegar himself, actually _pissing_ on Stiles' bed and then making his betas sleep in it... well, that was delightful. 

The fact that it was Stiles' bed wasn't as delightful. Nor was the weird fact that Stiles was still kind of turned on, despite thinking about Derek whipping his dick out and taking a piss. 

But Stiles was going to stick with ninja napping and not pissing... or jerking off because if he had to do with either of the latter options, his mind might actually explode with the extreme amount of rage and arousal that would inspire. 

He tried not to dwell on that too much.

Or the fact that he skipped school to stake-out his own damn house, which was completely lame and not cool at all. But then again, he had caught Derek Hale sneaking into his house and leaving looking flushed, happy and still a little sleepy around the edges. 

For some reason, as Stiles sat with numb fingers and a quickly numbing ass, he wondered if the three hours Derek spent sleeping in Stiles' bed was the only solid sleep Derek got.

<3<3<3

He didn't really know what to do with any of it. The next day, he went to school like he normally did but left his webcam on to broadcast with the uplink to his phone. In the morning, he watched the emptiness of his room distract him for most of his classes. Stiles had almost forgotten about it to be honest. Then Mr. Harris was being a complete bag of dicks in chemistry and Stiles had to look at his phone for fear of the little magical power he possessed rallying and sending Harris into spontaneous combustion.

There on the screen was a naked, slumbering werewolf. 

"Holy shit," Stiles said. 

"For some reason," Harris interrupted. "I doubt that's to do with the sudden realization of what a dumb little shit you are." 

Stiles didn't even pretend to be interested. He blinked a few times, grabbed his backpack and squeaked out, "Not feeling well." Then he split. 

Upon further inspection, it was hard to tell if Derek was fully naked but he definitely wasn't wearing a shirt. Nor was he wearing any socks. 

Stiles stared. Derek's feet were twitching in a way that was way to attractive. One foot was sticking out from underneath the covers and spastically twitching every once in a while. Stiles was struck with the imagine of puppies dreaming and kicking their legs in their sleep—as if that would get them closer to catching whatever they were chasing. 

Right. 

What exactly was Derek chasing?

<3<3<3

"So hypothetically," Stiles announced, not meeting Lydia's eyes. "Sneaking into someone's house and sleeping in their bed is... what?"

Lydia didn't look up from her cup of yogurt. "Am I supposed to say romantic? Because the answer is illegal and deranged." 

"What? No, just—"

"In this a hypothetical situation? Is someone home? Is someone else in the bed?" 

Stiles frowned. "No," he said firmly. "There is just sneaking in to sleep in someone else's bed." 

"Is Stiles still crawling into your bed at night, Lydia?" Danny asked, helpfully joining the conversation that no one invited him to. 

Lydia just looked thoughtful. "Nah, Stiles is more of a watch them sleep type of guy." 

"I am not!" 

Danny shook his head, doing the squinting and glaring thing he did all the time. Stiles repeated himself but Lydia slipped into some sort of condescending coma and Danny just looked weirded out. 

"I'm not—I don't watch Lydia sleep! This is about Derek—"

"Just because it's gay stalking doesn't make it less creepy," Danny said. "And I'm locking my windows. You freak."

Stiles sighed. This line of conversation was clearly not going anywhere and so he let it go, listening to Lydia describe her newest shoes as Danny didn't even pretend to care because he wasn't that kind of guy. Lydia didn't mind. She talked for the rest of the lunch and Stiles sat on his hands, staring at his chicken nuggets. 

Maybe a direct approach was better anyway.

<3<3<3

He didn't lie in wait for Derek because sneaking up on a werewolf was just embarrassing. Stiles used to try with Scott but it was useless and made him feel like a dork. More of a dork than he was already was. Considering the conversation opener Stiles was going to have to go with—well, he didn't need anymore awkwardness, alright?

He thought about letting it go. He thought about just ignoring the fact that Derek sleeps in his bed during the day and the scent lures the pack to Stiles' bedroom like Stiles' dad's morning pancakes. But the weekend came and the pack showed up, this time with Scott in toe, and Stiles was more than a little freaked out to watch Scott cuddle up with a pack he was not even officially a part of. (At least Allison was present. It was less weird to see Allison and Scott cuddled up on Stiles' beanbag, even if Scott's face was pressed up against the side of the bed's mattress.) 

When Derek had set him a research task, vague as ever, Stiles saw an opportunity to bring it up without the added awkwardness of witnesses. God, could you imagine if Stiles had brought it up during a pack meeting? Even if he waited until they were alone, the whole damn house would be able to hear him ask and Lydia would probably put it in the minutes she wasn't supposed to be taking because Derek insisted that it wasn't a pack meeting because he's a big meaner with a black heart of burnt out feelings.

Whatever. It totally was because Stiles said so, okay? 

Point of it was, at half-past midnight, Derek showed up without even tapping on the window. He just opened it straight up and slouched inside, looking entirely like a bored cat thinking about eating some mice just to pass the time. 

Stiles wished Derek's stupidly white teeth weren't such a turn on. 

Or so deadly sharp. 

"You are such a creep," Stiles said, when Derek loomed behind him, not saying a word. " _Hey, Stiles. Can I climb through your window?_ Sure, Derek! _How are you doing this fine evening that smells of research and the blood of my enemies?_ Oh you know, pretty good." 

Derek scowled. Stiles stared over his shoulder and tried to see if Derek looked guilty or uncomfortable returning to the scene of the snuggling crime. He just looked bored, maybe a little constipated. 

Then again, perpetually guilty was kind of Derek's default. 

"Do you have _anything_ for me?" Derek said, eyebrow judging as it had a terrible habit of doing.

"Hey," Stiles shot back. "I'm the giver here, okay? Just read your print outs and be nicer to me. And will you sit down? I'm not in the mood for the hulking shoulder intimidation. I'm going to start to get more a complex than I already have. Stupid werewolves." 

Derek didn't look sorry but he did sit down, snatching the print-outs and sitting down on the bed. Stiles swiveled around in his chair, trying to catch any lingering sign that Derek knew Stiles knew about the bed sleeping. Or maybe a clue to as why Derek was sleeping in his room during the day and leading the pack here, to kick Stiles out and seriously up the risk of having to explain to his dad why there is a cuddle orgy going on in his bedroom. Because "werewolves, man" was not going to cut it. 

Stiles lasted about ten minutes before Derek looked up from the print outs and said, "Who's the creeper now?" 

"Speaking of, um, creeping and you know, breaking and entering," Stiles said, gesturing to Derek's general person. "Do you maybe want to tell me why you sneak into my house during the day to take a nap?" 

It was incredibly freaky how still Derek could get.

"Not that I'm like, upset or anything—just, your betas are sort of crashing my bed whenever they can and I'm really confused," Stiles added. "I don't _mind_. I just want to know why." 

Stiles had prepared himself for either an enthusiastic leap from his window after a stunning display of awkward silence but it was worse than he expected. Derek didn't move. His eyebrows didn't even make a play for an emotion. 

But then again, he didn't throw himself out the window, so it was going remarkably well all things considered. 

"Are you going to say anything?" 

Derek finally blinked but he didn't seem to be clambering to open up and explain the strange behavior—which, hey, isn't unexpected but still, what was Stiles supposed to think? He found it hard to believe that Derek was secretly pining for him and spent his days marinating in Stiles' scent by way of napping. He had tried to think of ways that Derek would be rage-napping or something else equally insane but would make sense if it came out of Derek's mouth. 

He was really at a loss here. 

"I mean, it's not bad," Stiles said because Derek didn't look any closer to talking or bolting and Stiles could only maintain the awkward silence for so long before his instinct to talk it to death kicked in. "It's a little weird to see any of them getting along when there is nothing around trying to murder us before our eighteenth birthdays but it's not bad. Well, Jackson is still fucking horrible. Why did you have to bite him? I wish we could have just gotten back on track with the kill him for the good of the world plan because he's such a douchenozzle. I mean, really, why do you want him in your pack?" 

That gained him an eyebrow spasm. Derek totally thought Jackson was a dick too but he still always found some way to defend him. Stiles thought it was just another way Derek's guilt complex manifested. 

"But I guess I just don't understand why it's happening here. Is it some sort of play for Scott's territory? Because that's the last thing we need, man. The Alphas are already a pain in the ass without you going all freaky territorial." 

"Don't be an idiot," Derek said, scowling. Stiles pointed at him and made a face. 

"Is it idiotic because it's wrong or is it idiotic because I'm not good enough territory to fight for? Because let me tell you something, _Derek_ , I am _awesome_ ," Stiles said, defensive. 

"Danny even said so," he added. "Once." 

That earned him an eye-roll. 

Stiles gave him his best bitch face. "If you don't like my stupid ideas then why don't you tell me why? Isaac gave it up a little, saying you've been trying to hug it out—which might mean you're a pedo or it might mean that you're actually just a cuddly puppy underneath all that leather. But why is it happening here? Why my room? I don't get it." 

Derek was staring him down, all intense eyes and stubble that was super distracting. Like half the time Stiles spent freaking out about the shit-show his life had become, he comforted himself by remembering that he was surrounded by immensely pretty people—so that was a plus. The other side of that? He was definitely the ugly duckling. He wouldn't even win the hottest nerd because Lydia and Danny were freaks of nature. 

But he grew up with Scott and once had to endure a fourteen hour car ride with him, more than an advisable amount of Mountain Dew and a Hanson CD. He was going to win this staring contest with Derek. That shit was easy, even with Derek using his guilty but still stupidly sexy stare. 

Cheater.

"They deserve to feel safe," Derek finally said, pissed off but somehow still soft around the edges, as if Stiles wrenched it out of him. Stiles watched as Derek's shoulders slumped and he broke eye contact, staring at the bedspread. 

"What the hell does that mean?" 

There was a pissy shrug that looked more petulant than communicative, which just made Stiles want to take Derek by the shoulders and _shake him_. Stiles rubbed at his head instead and tried to make any of it make sense. 

Crazy, half-wild dick-head. 

"The Alphas want something but it's clear they're here to terrify my pack to get it," Derek said tersely. "They deserve to feel safe. My house growing up - my house can't be that for them. It can't be that for anyone but they deserve it and if I can do that for them..." 

Stiles had no idea what that lump was in his throat but it wasn't because Derek was giving him feelings similar to baby animal videos on youtube, okay? Great, now Stiles suddenly wanted to hug his dad. God. Derek was the only person in the world that made Stiles feel a clusterfuck of opposite emotions. How anyone worked _prison-hot_ and _hidden depths_ , while still managing to inspire impulsions to make out or leave them for dead was beyond Stiles, but Derek was a pro. 

Because Derek was a loser and allergic to words, by the time Stiles pushed aside the lump in his throat that made him want to hug his dad and invent a time machine to go back and save the world from Kate Argent, Derek was already walking toward the window. 

"Hey, you didn't answer my question," Stiles said.

"What do you want, Stiles?" 

"Don't get cranky with me." 

Derek didn't open up the window but he didn't back away from the sill, so yeah, awkward Spanish Inquisition instead of normal conversation was still on. 

"So," Stiles said, after looking at Derek's shoulders for a prolonged moment. "Why my bed? Is it a werewolf thing?" 

"They feel safe when I feel safe," Derek finally said.

Okay. Alright then. 

Well. 

Stiles' total and complete freak out over what that meant—over Derek sleeping here because he felt safe when he was here, in Stiles' bed with Stiles' scent—was interrupted by Derek opening the window. Stiles had no idea what he wanted to say or do in light of Derek's confession but he sure as hell didn't want to be alone in his room with it. His thoughts might eat him. 

"You should stay then," he said, mouth running off without his brain. "If that's what they deserve than you should stay, you know? Maybe, um... you'll feel safer if you have some company?"

Derek sighed, heavy shoulders heaving a little. 

"Stiles—"

"You deserve it too," Stiles heard himself say, or well, kind of shout really. He winced and cleared his throat, lowering his voice and shifting in his chair. "If they deserve to feel safe then so do you, Derek. I might have zero clue as to what is happening about with my life now-a-days but I can pretty much say with confidence that you deserve to feel safe, too, Derek. Even if that means breaking and entering. So just, maybe, stay?" 

Stiles was pretty sure Derek was going to leave. Staying would mean they would be in the same bed together, which was melting Stiles' brain function to just consider and man, it was going to get hella awkward because there was no hiding that Derek was hot and Stiles was into hotness. Even if Derek's hotness was annoying most of the time and got in the way of hating him enough to let him die from whatever was out to get them. But hey, what was being Stiles Stilinski even good for if it wasn't weathering the storm of awkwardness and completely conflicting feelings to reap the benefits of Derek, in his bed, probably only partly clothed. 

Man, this was such a trip. 

"Okay, how about this? I'm going to just, go to bed," Stiles said, standing up and toeing off his shoes. "And you can either join me or take off into the night like I have cooties or something. No pressure and I sure as hell won't be saying anything to anybody because I'm not even sure what went on here. You've blown my mind, dude. I'm in shock." 

And also getting side-tracked. 

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of ratty pajama pants for himself and some over-sized sweats, which he laid on the bed. He eyed Derek's tense back, the firm curve of his waist and his clenching hands before he said, "Right. Okay. I'm going to change and if you're not gone by the time I get back, then you better be in bed." 

He paused at the door and added, "I sleep on the right, so don't be a dick, okay?" 

Then he left to have some sort of brain melting panic attack in the bathroom. 

Feeling safe meant trust and if there was one thing in the world Stiles always thought was a bit of a problem, it was that nobody trusted anyone in this town. Stiles didn't trust Scott to not open his mouth about important shit; Stiles' dad didn't trust anyone and certainly not his own son; the last person Derek had trusted was Laura; and the rest of them had so many parental abandonment issues in myriads of manifestations, it was a wonder they all trusted the world to see them safely through the day. 

But the fact remained, Derek was in his bedroom right then because he felt safe where Stiles lived. 

Mind boggling. 

"Get it together," Stiles said to his reflection. "Don't moon over him." 

He was so freaked out, he didn't even laugh at his own joke. 

When he got back to his room, it was pitch dark and there was definitely a werewolf on the right side of the bed. 

"Dude! What did I say about the right side of the bed?" Because he couldn't just lie down and take that kind of attack. 

Derek rumbled in the darkness. "The window, Stiles." 

"You won't be making any quick escapes tonight," Stiles said, cautiously making his way to the bed and hoping he didn't trip over something and face-plant. "You're such a dick." 

"Just get into bed." 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'."

Stiles finally made it to his bed and hesitate about five seconds before he crawled under the covers and wiggled his way into some sort of comfortable position. He had never shared a bed with someone other than Scott or his mom. When his mom was in the hospital, he stayed over all the time to read to her and fell asleep there, squished against the railing and all the tubes coming out of her. 

This was nothing like that. 

Derek was this warm darkness that was impressively still able to hulk and loom while lying down. He also smelled good and Stiles could hardly hear his breathing. Not like Scott, who had always breathed funny because of his asthma. But Derek was still such a presence. It was kind of cool actually. 

And yeah, maybe a little safe.

Because nothing would attack him in his bedroom if Derek Hale was trying to get some shut-eye. The world was just not that cruel. Speaking of which... 

"Do you sleep anywhere else?" 

"What kind of question is that?" 

Stiles smirked. "One that you're shit at answering." 

There was a huff and Derek said, "Of course I sleep in other places." 

It was... a lie. Stiles couldn’t see Derek's face but it wouldn't reveal anything anyway if Derek was trying to hide something. He had a pretty good blank face, probably due to years of horrid experiences that most likely included creative torture. But lying in bed, this close to him in this weird, safety net that they've set up for themselves... Well, Stiles knew he was lying. 

"Yeah, okay," he whispered and because he had lost his mind a long, long time ago, he reached across the small ocean of space between him and Derek and reached for his hand. All he got was a bit of elbow and then hairy forearm but after some clumsy groping, he managed to find Derek's hand. 

Stiles held his breath, noting how remarkable he was at making impulsive decisions when Derek suddenly changed the name of the game but nothing happened. 

Derek didn't squeeze his hand back. He also didn't pull away. 

For some reason, the thought of Derek—super werewolf powers or not—only catching a few stolen hours of sleep during the day made Stiles incredibly sad. 

It also explained why the betas were so tired; not only did they prefer sleeping with Derek or in Derek's scent, but if Derek wasn't sleeping at night then he was most likely badgering them into training. Wow, yeah, that totally sucked for them. 

Except for Jackson, that bastard needed it. And maybe Isaac, probably kept him out of trouble and by trouble Stiles meant someone's pants. 

Stiles tried to stay as still as possible but it was hard not to squirm and his legs felt a bit restless. But he wasn't going to let go of Derek's hand if Derek didn't make him, which could get awkward and might actually happen because Stiles was more than a little hard. Not that anything was going to be done about it.

Although...

Jesus fuck. Stiles was going to have a heart attack and spontaneous come in his underwear at the same time if he kept this up. 

"It doesn't make any sense," Stiles said into the dark, hand still gripping Derek's but mouth moving because he's an idiot and he literally can't help himself. "You hate me." 

"I know." 

Stiles made a face. "Hey, you dick—"

"I don't _hate you_ ," Derek interrupted. "But you... annoy me." 

"And that annoyance makes you feel _things_?" 

Derek snorted. Stiles felt the bed shake a little.

"You're too young," Derek said, after Stiles had to listen to himself breath for a few minutes. "You are going to get yourself killed someday, running with a pack. You drive me _insane_ but I can't stop thinking about you or wanting to... be around you." 

Stiles tried to keep his cool but he knew his heartbeat was all over the place. Hell, he could hardly hear Derek over the roar of it in his ears. This was blowin' his mind. 

"You like me?" 

Stiles could practically feel Derek scowling at him as he said, "Reluctantly. I reluctantly... desire you." 

Except, he said it like he was surprised. And yeah, that made so little sense in the real world but in the freaky werewolf world of tortured souls and seriously not self-aware teenagers, then it made so much sense. 

Derek didn't _know_. 

It was like Stiles was living in his own Twilight universe, where Team Jacob won but all the weirdness of the courting stayed. Seriously, leave it to Derek to just chalk it all up to werewolf instincts to be safe and not, you know, his human desire to bang someone for extended periods of time because attraction and feeling safe—

Holy shit. Derek wanted to bang him. 

"Now would probably be a good time to kiss me," Stiles said, twisting so he could scoot across the bed. "You know, before I change my mind." 

Derek made a strangled noise but that could be because Stiles' hand was sweating now. Admittedly, pretty nasty. 

"Stiles, do you really think that's a good idea?" 

He sounded pretty confused and a little pissed off but Stiles didn't care. So they didn't know what they were doing. What part of that was new? Just because Stiles didn't spend his time pinning alone in his room for Derek or vice-versa didn't mean they couldn't give it a shot. 

Not everyone was Scott, who took one look at Alison and knew he was going to be doing stupid shit for her for the rest of his life. 

The rest of the world just sort of a played it by ear, weird sleeping fetishes and past death threats included, right? 

"Do I think making out with a werewolf who I've had an admittedly strained relationship with since he waltzed into my life and made me lie to my father on numerous occasions, while putting pretty much everyone I know in danger, is a good idea? No, absolutely not. That's a terrible call," Stiles said. But he softened the blow by squeezing Derek's fingers and kind of climbing on top of him. It was hard to figure it all out in the dark. He managed to locate Derek's nose, leaning down to press his forehead against Derek's. He could feel his breath on his face. 

He was suddenly really glad he remembered to brush his teeth. 

"But do I think I should make out with you anyway? Yeah, yeah I do. Because according to pretty much everyone who has ever lived, figuring shit out with other people is really fun and totally worth the risk," Stiles added. His weight was all on Derek now and he could feel the ghost of Derek's other hand on his hip. 

Holy shit. 

It was kind of weird kissing someone in the complete darkness, especially when they weren't really participating. Well, Derek was breathing and leaning into it but his mouth wasn't moving. Whatever. Stiles could handle this all by himself. Manifest destiny of the dick. 

It wasn't bad. Derek's lips were soft and when Stiles licked into his mouth, he squeezed on his hip and yeah, that was hot. He just laid there though, letting himself be kissed, which was weird, but Stiles didn't mind as much as he thought he would. When he always imagined Lydia and his first kiss, there was a lot of passionate kissing and she was definitely devouring him. This was nothing like his ambitious fantasies. It was a little clumsy and probably too wet but Stiles kind of didn't want it any other way. Cheesy, right? 

When he pulled away, Derek was breathing a little erratically and the hand holding was totally going both ways this time. 

"We'll figure it out," Stiles said, trying to focus on making out with Derek and not rubbing his semi-all over Derek's hot, naked belly.

"It's a terrible idea." 

Stiles shrugged, then he pinched Derek's ear and sort of rubbed his lips on Derek's. "I don't think it could get much more disastrous as our friendship, Derek. I bit you the other day. Out of frustration. If it doesn't work out, who the fuck cares? It's not rocket science. If Scott can do it, then we—" 

The second kiss was a whole lot better.

<3<3<3

The second time, but not the last time, Isaac crawled into bed with Stiles in the middle of the night, it caused just as much madness as the first. Except this time Isaac was the one doing the sleepy, panicked shrieking because he didn't find Stiles alone, nor did he find him clothed. There was a whole lot of growling this time, Derek clutching a mildly horrified but still smug as hell Stiles to his chest as someone found the light. Stiles managed to keep his mouth shut and keep the giggling to a minimum by biting at Derek's shoulder while Isaac and Derek had a weird silent conversation. Stiles couldn't say what it entailed but it was probably something like this:

Isaac: WHAT THE FUCK.  
Derek: Shut up.  
Isaac: OH GOD. I'M SO SCARRED.  
Derek: Shut up. I deserve to get some every once in a while.  
Isaac: FROM STILES? OH GOD MY EYES.  
Derek: Growling and expressive eyebrows.  
Isaac: GROSS. UGH. WORST FAKE DAD EVER.  
Derek: Shush you, Stiles is the God of mutual handjobs and you will just have to get used to it because apparently not everything in my life is tears and manpain. You are my minion, obey me.  
Isaac: FINE. BUT I'M GOING TO MAKE THIS FACE FOREVER. 

Or something like that. Stiles wasn't a mind reader. But eventually Isaac sighed and started to make a space for himself in the bed. 

"I'd uh... sleep on top of the covers, man," Stiles said, earning a pinch from Derek and a groan of psychological horror (or possibly disturbing hotness because Isaac was a total perv) from Isaac. 

"Not cool," came Isaac's muffled voice from the bottom of the bed. "I can't believe I still want to stay here! That's messed up. It smells like sex and... blanket forts." 

Stiles could feel Derek smirking into his shoulder and he was totally right because sex and blanket forts sounded just as traumatically fantastic as what happened in real life. (Hint: totally had an orgasm in the presence of another person, while touching that other person—all on purpose. Yeah, that's right. Stiles had sex. And is was _awesome_.)

"Shut up and go to sleep, Isaac," Derek said. 

Despite it everything, Stiles was looking forward to all the awkward boners of the morning because a lingering Isaac wasn't going to stop his dick from being happy or the making out because stubble burn was awesomely new. 

Well, maybe Isaac wasn't enough but if he woke up with a room full of betas, even his mostly virginal dick would wilt in the face of Jackson's douchery. 

Worth the traumatizing experience, though. Hands down.


End file.
